


Bring It On: Lion's Pride

by FireLordShiro



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adam Didn't Die in This AU, Adashi is Thriving, Background Relationships, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Established Keith/Lance (Voltron), Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Femslash, Gay Keith (Voltron), Gay Shiro (Voltron), Klance is Tooth Achingly Sweet, Lesbian Allura (Voltron), Minor Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Minor Keith/Lance (Voltron), POV Romelle, Romellura, and we die like men, bring it on au, cheerleading, lesbian romelle, long live the gays, this is so self indulgent, we live in fanon now boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-01 08:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15770037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireLordShiro/pseuds/FireLordShiro
Summary: Romelle was certain she would be made captain of her cheer squad her senior year, but her life was turned upside down when her parents moved across the state and forced her to start over at a new school - on a new squad.The captain, Allura, doesn’t seem to like Romelle, but cheering is who she is, she can’t just give it up.// heavily inspired by Bring it On: All or Nothing, but took on a life of its own \\





	Bring It On: Lion's Pride

Romelle had been cheering for as long as she could remember. It was almost as if she had been born with a permanent set of poms in her little fists. Cheering had long been her escape, her release point for all of the emotions she couldn’t put into words. When life got too hard, she would channel all of her energy into learning a new tumbling pass or throwing a perfect round-off with a new high of subsequent back handsprings. All of the tension she felt left her body whenever her hands hit the mat. It was catharsis in its purest form.

 

So when her senior season started, Romelle was all but certain she would be named team captain. She had led her team from within for three years, always showcasing her leadership skills but holding back enough so as to not overstep the current captains. Romelle was friends with everyone on the team, she was responsible for the largest portion of their original choreography, and she threw high difficulty tumbling passes like nobody’s business. She was the obvious choice for captain.

 

That was why she threw herself a pity party, complete with a gallon size tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream, when her parents abruptly broke it to her that they would be moving to Texas before her senior year began. Romelle had bargained, she had begged, but it was no use. Her father had been transferred to the Dallas branch of his company with a hefty promotion and new title, and she had no choice but to follow.    
  


_ “Sweetie, your new school has a squad, too. You don’t have to stop cheering.”  _

_  
_ _ “Mom, you just don’t understand.” _

 

But as much as she hated the idea of starting over on a new team, Romelle just couldn’t stay away. Cheering was in her blood. She felt the need to fly and flip and dance across the stage pulse through her veins with every step she took. The mat had become her home, and try as she might, she just couldn’t leave it behind.

 

And that was how Romelle ended up in this foreign gym with its fluorescent lights, surrounded by blue tumbling mats and three dozen other hopefuls with similar numbers pinned to their backs, standing in front of the current Lions of Altea High School and waiting to be judged. The crisp blue pleats of their skirts and the pristine white laces of their shoes were simultaneously menacing and oh so familiar. The pure royal blue provided a background for the harsh black and white design adorning the chests of the uniforms and proudly displaying the school’s mascot. Romelle thought quietly that this fully uniformed display was a power play by the team captain, but she decided to keep the idea to herself. 

 

Romelle stood with hands on her hips off to the side of the mats, observing as the other potential members stretch out before they started. She idly popped the chewing gum that always helped to calm her nerves before a performance. She had thrown her try out tumbling countless times. Heck, she had choreographed the passes for her old team two years ago. They were as easy and natural as breathing at this point. 

 

“AAAAHHHH! Lance  _ cut it out _ !”

 

An indignant screech followed by raucous laughter forced her attention to the bleachers behind her, where two boys, fully dressed in Altean blue, who looked to be about her age, were doubled over for what were obviously different reasons.

 

“Oh, man! Keith! You should’ve seen your face!” The one who was laughing,  _ Lance _ , shouted as he overdramatically wiped fake tears from his cheeks. He stood and smiled then, a blinding flash of sun that could brighten even the dullest skies, Romelle thought.

 

The other one,  _ Keith _ , glared back at Lance with a barely concealed smirk on his face. He turned from the bleachers and started walking over to his teammates. He pulled the disheveled pony tail out of his long black hair and started to fashion a new one. 

 

“I’m breaking up with you,” Keith called over his shoulder, grin prevalent on his face when he heard the gasp from behind him.

 

“ _ Babe _ ! Babe, wait!” Lance screeched and launched himself after Keith, colliding with him hard and sending them both to the mat in a fit of hysterics. Romelle snorted at the display, quickly covering her smile behind her hands.

 

That’s when the captain made herself known. She had to be Romelle’s age, but she exuded the kind of crazy maturity and regality one would expect of royalty. She had glowing brown skin and silver-white hair that reached her waist. If one couldn’t tell from her presence alone that she was in charge, the golden headband she wore did the trick. It shimmered brightly against her skin with a blue stone sitting snugly in the center. On anyone else it would have looked ridiculous, but on her it just looked … good.

 

“Nice of you two to finally join us,” She said, crossing her arms over her chest with one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised. The two boys stopped their wrestling almost instantly, heads snapping up in the direction of her voice. Matching blushes crept to their cheeks.

 

“Ah. Sorry, Princess.” Lance untangled himself from Keith and rose sheepishly, running one hand through his unkempt hair. Romelle bristled at his use of the nickname and anxiously awaited the captain’s reaction, but oddly enough none came. Maybe it was more of a term of endearment than a taunt.

 

“We would have been on time but someone kept trying to jump out and scare me from every possible hiding place.” Keith grumbled, now on his feet next to his boyfriend.

 

“Uh, excuse you. The word  _ trying _ implies that I did not  _ succeed _ . Which I totally did. Twice.” Lance beamed and side stepped both Keith and the captain, running to a boy almost twice his size and jumping to meet the hand that awaited his for a high five.

 

Keith sighed and mumbled another apology before finding his place alongside his teammates, trying and failing to hide his amusement at Lance’s antics.

 

They were definitely the kind of couple Romelle could see herself being friends with. She smiled to herself and felt her anxiety lessen ever so slightly. Then she turned her attention to center court as the team captain called the squad hopefuls to order.

 

“Hello everyone, and welcome to today’s tryouts. We thank you all for your interest and enthusiasm, but we regret to inform you all that we will only be filling two open positions today: those of flyer and side base. Please keep that in mind as we proceed.”

 

A slight murmur ran through the crowd at the announcement. Romelle felt the color drain from her face. Only two spots? She looked around at the almost forty girls with her on the mats and gulped. She had never performed against those odds before. She was confident in her skills, sure, but she had no idea who else in this gym had those same skills. The uncertainty turned her stomach.

 

“Today you will be evaluated on three skills: tumbling, choreography, and endurance. You will be scored by four judges and those scores will be averaged. The highest scoring flyer and highest scoring base will receive invitations to join the squad. Any questions?” Romelle bit her lip and shifted from foot to foot. It seemed the other hopefuls shared her unease, because no one raised a question.

 

“Good.” The captain smiled then, easy, as if dreams weren’t on the line here. “I’d like for you all to meet our judges. First, we have Coran Smythe,” she gestured to her left and an incredibly enthusiastic man bounded onto the court beside her, “he is our head coach and choreographer. He has an extensive background in tumbling and dance and is an excellent mentor to the squad.” The man named Coran gave a quick smile and wave before patting the captain on the back and turning to take a seat at what would be the judges’ table.

 

“Next we have Takashi Shirogane, who prefers to be called Shiro.” At the mention of his name the man in question smiled sheepishly and walked out to meet the captain at center court. He was tall, built, and extremely handsome. But his most striking feature had to be the prosthetic arm that extended from his right shoulder. “Shiro cheered for Altea three years ago before moving onto college cheer. He is our lead spotter and trainer for bases. He volunteers with us in his free time.” Shiro smiled to the hopefuls before sharing a look with the captain and following Coran over to the judges’ table.

 

“Of course we have Adam Walsh as well,” the captain smiled fondly as another beautiful man, this one with dark, honey kissed skin and wire framed glasses, joined her. “Adam and Shiro have competed together for years and make one hell of a team. He is a physical trainer and specializes in endurance building.” Adam leaned in quickly to press a chaste kiss to the captain’s cheek before she shooed him away. He meandered over to the table with the others and flashed a wide smile at Shiro before he sat. Romelle couldn’t be certain, but she thought she saw a flush color Shiro’s cheeks at the attention.

 

“I, of course, will be the fourth and final judge today. My name is Allura, as some of you may already know.” Allura, huh? Fitting name for such a regal girl. “I have the honor of leading the Lions this year as captain, and I look forward to working with you all today.”

 

Allura pulled a whistle from the pocket of her skirt and draped it around her neck. 

 

“First thing’s first: pacers from the baseline. Numbers one through twenty, line up. Everyone else keep stretching. On my mark.”

 

Romelle hesitated before remembering the number on her back that read 13. She shook out her hands on her walk to the baseline, eyeing the competition as most of them showed their nerves about the test. Pacers were notorious for being hard on athletes, but Romelle refused to fail. She had built her athleticism over years of practice and personal training, conditioning day in and day out. She rolled her shoulders back and took up a starting position at the far side of the court, as close to the judges’ table as she could get without running them over. 

 

Twenty-one levels. Twenty-one minutes.

 

The whistle blew.

 

Romelle lunged forward at the sound but fell comfortably behind the other hopefuls in her stride. She laughed inwardly. This test wasn’t about speed. It was about stamina. She took her time as the others sprinted to the marker at the other end of the court and back. Romelle made it back to the starting line with a few seconds to spare before the next whistle went off.

 

It went on like that, a gradual increase in the frequency of the whistles, a gradual increase in Romelle’s speed, a gradual increase in the number of girls who tapped out early because they had expended too much energy at the beginning.

 

Twenty minutes in and Romelle’s legs were screaming. Sweat dripped down her brow as she crossed the starting line for the twentieth time, whipping around to assume her stance and await the next whistle which was due at any second. There were only two girls still standing at this point, and Romelle was one of them. 

 

The whistle blew.

 

She barreled forward, exerting all of the energy she had saved for this very moment, forcing herself onward faster and faster until she abruptly turned at the halfway point and just barely planted one foot in the opposite direction before she was pushing off again. She could hear the pounding footsteps of the last girl behind her, hear the labored breathing that had filled the air for twenty minutes. 

  
The last whistle sounded just as her right foot touched down on the finish line. Her momentum carried her on, and she collided with the mat against the wall before collapsing in a sweaty heap against the gym floor. Her chest heaved and her lungs burned, but she was the only one in the first group to complete the test. The other girl who made it to the last level crossed the line too late. Romelle grinned when she saw the impressed looks on the faces of the judges, the hushed whispers they passed back and forth.

 

Allura called for the second group to make their way to the starting line, and Romelle gave herself five minutes to rest before she got up and made her way to the water cooler. 

 

“Hey, nice job!”

 

A kind voice broke through the ringing in her ears as she reached the cooler. That same boy from earlier, the one who had waited for Lance with a high five, stood behind the table, extending a hand to her. She shook it shakily, grimacing at the sweat on her own hand. 

 

“I’m Hunk, by the way,” he pulled his hand from her grip and replaced it with a cup of cold water. Romelle took it gratefully and chugged. 

 

“Romelle,” she offered, leaning over to throw the empty cup into the recycling bin beside the table.

 

“That was really impressive. The only person on the team who’s actually finished that test in time is Allura. You’re in good company.”  

 

His eyes crinkled at the sides when he spoke, and Romelle thought idly that she could feel kindness radiating from his skin. She took the compliment in stride, thanked him for the water, and walked back to the side of the court, pulling her elbows behind her head in turn to stretch back out.

 

Her eyes drifted to the judges’ table and locked with Allura’s, a slight furrow in her brow. Allura immediately snapped her attention back to the task at hand, but the damage was done. Romelle’s stomach did a flip worthy of Olympic gold and she had to avert her gaze to the floor for the remainder of the test.

 

The second round of pacers passed in a blur, and Romelle could barely contain her smirk when no one in the second group finished in time. She took her time loosening up for her first tumbling pass as the second group dashed for water and towels to wipe off sweat.

 

Allura’s whistle blew again and drew the room’s attention to where she stood in front of the other judges. She leaned against the table, arms crossed yet again, a smile that looked rather forced planted on her face.

 

“Next up we’ll be doing some tumbling. Please do not throw any tricks or passes that you don’t know you can land. We do not need to be calling ambulances today, alright?”

 

A murmur of assent passed through the crowd and Allura stood. Coran and Shiro followed her over to the tumbling mat and took their places on either side. Allura stood near the starting corner with the hopefuls, giving words of encouragement to the most nervous of the lot.

 

They would go in numerical order. One pass, then back of the line. They would each throw three passes in full. No do overs. 

 

Romelle barely paid attention to the passes being thrown in front of her, she was too preoccupied observing the reactions of the established Lions from the bleachers. It seemed they were there for moral support, to present a united front, but they were not holding back their opinions on the potential new additions to their squad. Romelle saw Keith and Lance whispering back and forth after each pass and giggling quietly to each other. Whether it was over some shared joke or at the stunts being performed, she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t certain she would like the answer, either. 

 

Soon enough it was her turn. She stepped up to the mat beside Allura and turned to acknowledge the captain. What she got was a close-up view of her profile, as Allura turned away and refused to make eye contact. A spike of irritation flared within Romelle’s gut, and she steeled herself for her pass. If Allura didn’t want to pay attention to her, fine. She wouldn’t give her a choice in the matter.

 

With a deep breath and one nod to Coran at her right, Romelle took off running to the center of the mat. Her first pass was her simplest.  _ Roundoff/back handspring/back handspring/layout _ . Romelle chanted the tricks in her head before she launched herself face first at the mat, propelling her legs over her head to land simultaneously before pushing off into her first back handspring. She knew she had perfect velocity and rotation before her hands hit the mat for the second time. 

 

The pass happened in the blink of an eye, but Romelle knew she had done well before her sneakers hit the floor on her layout with an incredibly satisfying  _ thud _ . Her toes were glue. If she could be counted on for anything in cheering, it was sticking her landings. 

 

She exhaled hard, letting out the jitters as familiarity overwhelmed her. She smiled for no one in particular and turned to walk to the back of the line.

 

“Nicely done, thirteen,” Shiro held his hand up for a high five as she passed. Romelle beamed and met him halfway, not even noticing that it was his prosthetic until the cold metal hit her palm. 

 

She kept her eyes on Allura as the line continued to move forward, watching as the captain spoke with each hopeful in turn. Jealousy flared when she made it to the mat for her second pass and she was still paid no mind by the captain. Romelle huffed a laugh and shook her head, apparently loud enough for the other girl to hear. She felt eyes on her as she stared down the mat.

 

“Front punch roundoff back handspring back tuck,” she murmured, quiet enough that only Allura could hear her. Allura scoffed. 

 

“You don’t need to call your passes.”

 

“But now you’re watching.”

 

She took off before Allura could respond, running briefly before launching into a front tuck to start her pass. The flips and twists happened on muscle memory alone. Within seconds Romelle was on the other side of the mat, holding her landing and staring Allura down. The captain stood where she was left, eyes narrowed and mouth slightly agape. Romelle smirked.

 

That same smirk stayed on her face as she waited through the line one last time, gearing up for her highest difficulty pass. She rolled her head and shoulders as she waited for number 12 to go, then sidled up alongside Allura.

 

“Call it, thirteen.”

 

Romelle huffed a laugh at the annoyance clearly coloring the captain’s voice. 

 

“Roundoff back handspring back handspring double full front tuck.”

 

Allura’s head snapped around to her then, but Romelle was already gone. Her hair whipped against her face as she catapulted forward, throwing herself into the roundoff and propelling onward. Her double full was her signature move, she incorporated it into every piece of choreography she had ever created. She felt untouchable, spinning so quickly in the air as her feet passed over her head and back down. The front tuck was a small flourish that added a finality to the combination that she was quite fond of. It was by no means an easy pass, and everyone in the gym knew it. 

 

Romelle’s feet hit the mat to the sound of a cheer ringing out from her right. She turned to find the source and saw Lance and Hunk, clapping wildly from the bleachers. The others looked just as impressed, albeit more reserved. She smiled at the reaction and made her way off the mats. She didn’t spare Allura a glance as she walked off, she was sure that she had the captain’s attention now.

 

The choreography portion of the try out passed without incident. Romelle could tell she was one of the finalists for the two open positions when she and about six other girls were purposely placed at the front of the pack, closest to the judges. Allura taught the steps from a few feet in front of the group, and Romelle noticed how robotic and forced the moves seemed in comparison to the routines she choreographed herself.

 

Nonetheless, she memorized the steps almost immediately and repeated them again and again as Allura made the rounds correcting other hopefuls. Romelle made eye contact with each judge in turn, putting on her competition smile and executing each step with purpose. She could see the amusement in the eyes of the three judges at the table and chose not to think about what Allura would have to say about the display.

 

Thirty minutes and two more combinations later, the try out was called to a close. Allura led the potential additions to the squad and the established team members to the center of the court, a small smile on her face and twinkle in her eye.

 

“Thank you all for coming out today, you’ve certainly given us judges a lot to consider. We will be making decisions tonight and posting the results on the main hall’s bulletin board tomorrow before first period. You will also receive an email tomorrow morning concerning whether or not you will be invited to become a Lion.” Her eyes scanned across the crowd before her, flicking from face to face as she spoke. Until she reached Romelle. Then she stopped, held the gaze, and spoke directly. “There were several impressive candidates today but sadly we cannot accommodate all of you.”

 

A chill ran down Romelle’s spine at the change in tone, at the very pointed direction of those words. She narrowed her eyes.

 

“Great job, everyone. Rest up, drink plenty of water, and we’ll see you this season.”

 

The closing comments were met with applause from the other three judges and the rest of the team standing behind her. A few hopefuls joined in, smiling brightly. Then they slowly dispersed, heading in different directions to grab their gym bags and make their exits. Romelle was the last to leave. She stood still, facing Allura as the space emptied. The captain seemed to want to look anywhere but at Romelle. 

 

Romelle had to consciously withhold the eye roll that threatened to appear as she turned on her heel and walked back to get her own bag. She felt eyes on her back and refused to turn around. If Allura wouldn’t let her on the team for whatever petty reason was causing the attitude she was currently on the receiving end of, screw it. Romelle was far and away the best candidate at the try out, and she knew it. 

 

She barely slowed to grab the strap of her gym bag before swinging it over her shoulder and finding the door. She pushed forward into the crisp air of early evening and let the door slam shut behind her. It sounded definite. It sounded final.

 

Romelle sighed. Cheering was her happy place, but maybe Altea wasn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> as of now i'm planning 5-6 chapters for this fic! updates will be sporadic because i'm real busy but i'll have this finished before season 8 comes out!
> 
> you can find me in klance hell over on twitter @softazula and on tumblr @firelordshiro


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